


Ophiophagy

by AlmostWolfgang



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, OC Family - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostWolfgang/pseuds/AlmostWolfgang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was undercurrent to those words, to that tone and to the expression on his face that she did not dare let her mind pursue. He was a snake and she knew he would swallow her whole if given half the chance. Tom Riddle Era Tom/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So while all my friends were killing themselves with conquering NaNoWriMo, I decided to actually devote myself to writing a detailed multi-chapter fic, and so Ophiophagy was born. Ophio is not all written out, but I've got the plot all laid out and multiple scenes written and visually story boarded. Because it's not all written out, updates will be relatively slow, but I'm hoping the story gains interest, so if you like it, let me know! I'll post links to the story boards, character designs, and playlists that I've made on my profile, so if you're interested, make sure to check in. Now to get on with the work.

It was in her fourth year at Hogwarts that Mazarine Hargrave's oldest brother forbid his siblings from talking to the Riddle boy. Cowal had never given a definite reason for his decision—only the occasional angry mumbling of "because," but she had always assumed he felt threatened by the younger boy. From his first days at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had excelled in an unbelievable fashion. He quickly proved himself a favorite of teachers and students alike as well as the complete envy of others. He soared to the top of his classes, acing any test thrown his way without a second glance. From early on, there was talk of him being made a prefect, even of head boy—something Cowal had dreamed of. Cowal, with his severe nature and angry looks, had never achieved what Tom had no matter how long and hard he'd tried. Mazarine could remember the looks her eldest brother would shoot the boy when she and her brothers passed him in Hogwarts' crowded staircases. They were withering and full of spite and in most cases, Tom did not bother to even spare them a glance.

Mazarine, the spirited, wavy haired, middle child of the Hargrave's had never really spared him a thought before her brother's declaration. She and Tom were in the same year and house, but despite that, she saw him less than she saw her older, Gryffindor brother, Declan. Tom was a bookworm and teacher's pet, far too dull for her tastes. While he spent his time in the darkest recesses of the libraries, Mazarine spent her time on the quidditch pitch. Tom took to enforcing the rules and she befriended those who took joy in breaking them.

It was only out of spite for her brother—and perhaps a little curiosity—that Mazarine chose to take an interest in her classmate. And so, with that decision in the back of her mind, she began to watch him; in their shared classes, the Slytherin commons, and from across the long house tables. It turned into an odd hobby for her, something that kept her overactive mind busy during boring classes and awake when she felt like dropping her head to the desk under her hands. He proved less interesting than she had hoped—there didn't seem to be much hidden under the surface even after all her watching. She noted that he really wasn't close with his friends, but that wasn't unusual in their house, and that, when he would bring books back to the common room, they were often unfamiliar to her. She'd seen him again and again with books with titles referring to the Founders and the Dark Arts, books she was unaware that the libraries even held—not that she had spent enough time there to know their catalogs.

By the time their fifth year had rolled around, Tom had been made Prefect and Mazarine, captain of the Slytherin quidditch team. Tom was spending an increasing amount of time in the libraries and what time Mazarine had outside of quidditch was spent with family. The oldest three siblings of the Hargrave family—Cowal, Declan, and herself—were quickly growing apart, and fights were becoming common place. Vaughnn, the fourth child in the family, had entered Hogwarts and been sorted into the Slytherin house. He however, was a sickly and quiet child who proved the favorite target for bullies from all houses. Cowal, in his seventh and final year at the school, regularly took his short temper out on Vaughnn or ended up in cursing matches with Declan over his particularly defined sense of morality. Mazarine spent her time ushering Vaughnn about and playing protector for the boy, sending threats and snarls at anyone she caught bothering him, all while trying to keep her older brothers from drawing too much attention to the family.

The more the family argued, the less Mazarine found herself choosing to listen. While she made sure to take care of her duties, she rarely found herself really investing herself into breaking up her brother's fights or even involving herself in the family matters unless it was absolutely necessary. With distance growing between the siblings, Mazarine looked elsewhere for entertainment.

Though she still thought of him as a bookworm, Tom Riddle was becoming more and more interesting. In his position as Prefect, the boy seemed livelier than ever before. His group of friends followed him about regularly and he spoke more freely in class. There was a light that caught in his eyes when he smiled and a certain lilt to his voice that had not been there before. However, despite his more jovial behavior, Mazarine often found herself unsettled by him, for reasons she couldn't place. Whenever she caught herself staring at him—staring at the uncomfortably tense set of his jaw or the way his brow would crease ever so slightly around certain people—and he would catch her, her skin would crawl. Beneath that though, there was some thrill to it. Mazarine had always liked games, had always played to win no matter what the cost, and Tom Riddle was proving to be quite the challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the bare wooden slots of the stands, the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch was alive with the cheers and taunts of gathered students. Though they numbered few, and almost all wore Slytherin green, they made an unordinary amount of noise. Some roared in joy and others in outrage as the new team positions were announced. The source of the most controversy stood in the center of the field, surrounded by the other students dressed in practice robes and padding. Average in height with long, wavy black hair and slightly rounded face, Mazarine Hargrave was a picture of ecstasy. She held her head high, a proud grin spreading her lips as she laughed and cheered. Keaton Mavies, a seventh year, and the team's reigning seeker slapped a hand on her back, "Congrats, Maz! Team Captain—and the first female captain for our team!" Wrapping his arm about her shoulders, the red haired boy leaned down to beam at her, "So," he said, "how's it feel to make history?"

Puffing out her chest and trying for a haughty look, Mazarine turned away from him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She pursed her lips as she spoke, nodding her head back and forth just slightly as if mocking someone, "Quite nice, if you must ask, Mavies. I simply can't wait to do it again." She couldn't hold the impression though and burst into laughter, tossing her arms around his shoulders, "I can't believe it, Keaton! I did it! I got Captain!" Mazarine squealed in delight and bounced about, full of pent up energy.

Keaton merely laughed and wrapped his other arm around her waist to give her a short hug, the freckled boy grinning down at her. "Well you did," he said, "and you'd better believe it." Almost oblivious to the unpleasant names and phrases thrown at her by the students that trudged off the field or stood in the stands, Mazarine dropped her arms from Keaton's neck to put one around his waist and pull over another boy. Swinging her other arm out she caught one of the team's newest additions, a sheepish, round faced third year named Clive Abbott. The boy squeaked and nearly tumbled over as Mazarine and Keaton added him to the huddle. Barely sparing the third year a moment to compose himself, Mazarine turned her attention to Keaton, "I say you take us out for a round, Mavies! Our veteran member treating the new recruit and your new captain to a few. Sounds like a good idea to me!"

Before the wide eyed and stuttering Clive could say otherwise, Keaton threw his head back and laughed, giving Mazarine and the boy a shake, "Why not!" he yelled, grabbing the attention of all the other quidditch players, " Drinks at The Three Broomsticks at five, all on me!" As the team rejoiced and went about shouting their thanks, Mazarine patted both boys on the back before slipping out of Keaton's grip and releasing Clive.

"I'll have to meet you there, Mavies," she said, knocking him lightly in the chest, "I've got to let someone else in on the good news!" She began to bound away, scooping up her broom as she headed toward the castle.

Keaton's slightly lilted voice stopped her and she turned to see him grinning at her, raising his broom in the air and shaking it, "Better be there, Hargrave!" he yelled after her, pride on his thin, freckled face, "I want to be the first to buy you a drink— I have a feeling this won't be the first time you'll make history!"

Allowing a slight blush to steal across her face, Mazarine laughed at him, "Keep the flattery to yourself, Mavies!" With a smile, she winked at him before turning to run up the hill, yelling over her shoulder, "You know I'll be there!"

When she had finally reached her destination, Mazarine was a bit ashamed to admit she was more than a little winded, her breath coming in pants as she squatted down and braced her palms on her knees, waiting. "Guess I'll have to make runs part of quidditch training this year," she mumbled, chuckling to herself.

The halls of Hogwarts were mainly empty and almost entirely devoid of noise. Most students were still in class and those who weren't were either back at the quidditch pitch or holed up in their dorms. When a meal wasn't being served and class wasn't on, few students spent their time wandering about the castle. No matter how long one stayed, no matter just how safe or homey the building came to seem, everyone knew, deep down, that it was not smart to wander its halls alone. With its moving stairwells and ever watchful portraits, the castle was so very alive that one could easily forget that when it seemed to breathe, it was only the pulsing of the magic that protected it.

So Mazarine sat herself just out of the way of the crowds of students that would soon come bursting from classrooms to fill the halls and waited, idly twirling a strand of already curled hair about her finger. Quietly she hummed to herself, when suddenly, the halls erupted with noise and jostling students. When a small girl with olive skin and dark bob of hair turned the corner, Mazarine slid her foot out and caught her toe, sending the girl tumbling down, books and papers flying everywhere.

After slamming to the ground, the tiny girl shove herself up, shouting in a surprisingly loud voice, "Who in Merlin's name—" she cut herself off, growling as she looked around, "I swear to—Mazarine!" The girl's already pitched voice went up higher as she caught sight of the black haired slytherin and without warning, she loosed the one book she'd managed to hold on to, aiming it straight for her head. Laughing widely, Mazarine ducked out of the way and stood, grabbing some of the girl's books then took off down the hall, dancing in-between other students to throw out taunts and keep an eye on her pursuer's progress. Rushing to sweep up the rest of her things, the darker skinned girl dashed after her, nearly running into numerous other students that stood watching, "Merlin's beard, when I catch you, Mazarine!

"If you even can," Mazarine yelled back, laughing all the way as she took a sharp turn through the throngs of students to burst out into the courtyard and throw her broom out in front of her with a shouted command of, "Up!" She jumped onto the broom and pulled herself up and out of reach of the girl who chased her, and bent down, resting her elbow on the wood and her chin in hand, smiling down at the students that watched, "I'd like to see you try now, Blythe."

Fire in her eyes and curses on her lips, Blythe Gallopin stood in the courtyard glaring up at Mazarine, still dressed in her practice robes. "Oh, you will," said Blythe, and before Mazarine could understand the threat, she was dodging book after book that the other girl sent flying. Regardless, she stayed laughing, twisting and turning about in the air, at one point turning her broom upside down and dropping the books she held at Blythe's feet.

With a stupid grin on her face, she hung at eye level with the girl, "I know you're mad, but I've got some rather fun news."

"Mad?" Blythe questioned, her eyebrows shooting up, "Mad! I'll show you mad, Mazarine!" With a scowl, Blythe's arm shot out and her fist knocked into the side of Mazarine's head. Expected the hit, however, Mazarine spun her broom and ended up sitting upright on it again, grinning and rubbing her temple.

Raising a hand in surrender, she offered, "Alright, alright, shouldn't have tripped you, I know. But you really will be quite happy if you listen to what I have to say!" With Blythe showing no signs of forgiving her, Mazarine sighed playfully and pulled her wand from her robes, casting a spell to round up the girl's books and papers, piling them at her feet. "Honestly," she said, "it's good news, I promise." Smiling widely, she kicked her feet in the air, cooing, "Come on, ask what it is. You know you're interested."

With a glare, Blythe bent down to pick up her belongings, "Fine," she huffed, "what's this news?"

The smile on Mazarine's face spread and she was beaming, pulling her broom up into a loop before landing in front of her friend, "Guess who's the new Slytherin team captain?"

All of the anger that had been etched into Blythe's small, pointed face was erased as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "No," she protested, a tiny grin started to steal across her face, "you aren't. No possible way."

Forging words for a just a grinning nod, Mazarine answered and caught Blythe when she ran to hug her. They twirled about for a minute, giggling in joy before Mazarine set her friend back on her feet and Blythe shook her head, disbelieving. "I cannot believe you, Mazarine Hargrave," she said, rolling her eyes with a short laugh, "So, I assume we're celebrating?"

Picking up some of Blythe's things, Mazarine nodded and began to lead the way back to their dorms in the dungeon. "The Three Broomsticks at five," she said over her shoulder, humming as she walked, "I'm sure Keaton won't mind if you join us, you're basically part of the team. You're—"

Anticipating her words, Blythe cut in, "not your cheerleader, simply an avid fan." She stared her friend down, hazel eyes meeting deep blue and refusing to blink.

Giving up, Mazarine turned her head with a laugh and nodded, "Avid fan, okay, we'll go with that."


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, guys, I intended to have this one written and posted before Christmas. I'm really sorry to say that at least until mid January, my updates will be pretty slow. I'm home from college for winter break and it turns out that the situation here has changed quite a bit since I left. My dad has had some kind of nervous breakdown and to make a long story short, has been putting the family under a massive amount of stress. I don't intend to let this fic get away from me though, so even if the updates are slow, updates there will be.

Arm in arm with Blythe and Keaton, Mazarine made her way back into the castle that night. The entirety of Slytherin's quidditch team had turned out, even timid Clive Abbott. They'd spent hours in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and rejoicing over the good year to come. The team concocted half-baked maneuvers and plans for games that they were sure to forget by the morning, some consisting of hexed pigeons and others, transfigured brooms. Some, like Clive, stuck with drinking pumpkin juice, others downed butterbeer after butterbeer, which after the first two rounds, Keaton had stopped covering. As the team's only seventh years, Keaton and Tansy Thorton enjoyed the occasional firewhiskey, and as per usual, Mazarine regularly stole gulps of the seeker's drink when he wasn't looking.

Slightly sloshed and laughing up a storm, the three friends made their way to the Slytherin dungeons, choosing to skip out on what was left of dinner in the great hall. After mumbling "parselmouth" at the heavy stone door, Keaton led the two younger slytherins in, only to stop, frowning at the sight that greeted them. Before either girl had stepped more than one foot past the door, he turned to Mazarine, stepping in front of her. Grinning, he dropped a hand on her shoulder, "Maz," he said, pushing slightly to walk her back out the door, "I forgot! There's something I need to show you, come on, let's go."

More than a little confused by Keaton's sudden actions, Mazarine stared at him, one brow raised. "What?" she asked, not budging as he pushed at her, "Where are we going?" Reaching up, she plucked his hand from her shoulder, looking over to Blythe for answers, "Do you have any idea what he's going on about?"

For her part, Blythe looked oddly in on Keaton's actions despite the answer she gave, "Not at all, Maz, but I'm sure it's worth seeing. Has Keaton ever disappointed?"

When over her friends voices, Mazarine heard arguing, she pushed the seeker out of her way, ignoring his protests and attempts to block her view. Once she'd moved around the red haired boy, she could see exactly why her friends had tried to push her out of the room. In the center of the mostly deserted commons stood her eldest brother, Cowal, and her family's most recent addition to the school. Vaughnn, who was abnormally pale and thin even for a Hargrave, sported a bright red right cheek and cradled it in his hand, his head hanging and shouldered hunched as he tried to hide in plain sight. Meanwhile Cowal, twice his brother's size in bulk and easily a foot taller, berated him, yelling and waving his fists.

Before Keaton or Blythe could stop her, Mazarine was yelling, "Vaughnn, upstairs, now!" The lanky boy's head snapped up and seeing his sister stomping over, he bolted, headed for his dorm.

Deprived of his usual outlet, Cowal turned his anger to its usual source. "Mazarine," he growled, "stay out of it." His neatly combed hair was slipping from its tie and long, thin strands fell around his wide face.

"Don't start it and I won't have to," Mazarine shot back, walking down into the room to stand face to face with her brother. "You aren't Mother or Uncle, so you have no right to be disciplining Vaughnn," she said, her richly painted lips turning into a distasteful scowl as she shot him a look, "Not that he's ever done a single thing to deserve it, unlike yourself."

His face twisting into a snarling grimace, Cowal raised his hand to strike only to meet resistance in the form a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Keaton held his fellow seventh year's arm still, face mostly blank of the anger that burned in his eyes. "Do not hit her, Cowal, you've already struck a first year, don't let the Prefects find out you've hit Mazarine as well," he said, trying win the Hargrave over with reason.

Looking the red haired boy over, Cowal ripped his hand from Keaton's grip, scoffing, "Veiled threats don't fit you, Mavies. This is a family matter and I suggest you keep your nose out of it."

Holding his tongue, Keaton simply stared down at the oldest Hargrave, only pulling away when Mazarine laid a hand on his upper arm. "He's right, Keaton," she said, giving him a small, reassuring smile, "I can handle myself. Don't worry. Go check on Vaughnn for me, will you?"

Frowning slightly, he nodded, saying with a sigh, "Alright, Mazarine." Sending Cowal one last glare, Keaton headed for the first year dorms, stopping to call out to Blythe, "Come on, Maz says she's got it, let's leave it to her then."

Once her friends had left the room, Mazarine reached out to shove her older brother. "Keep your hands off Vaughnn and for Merlin's sake, stop picking fights with Declan. I'm not your caretaker and I'm not always going to be around to wave people away, Cowal."

With a snarl, Cowal backhanded her, "My caretaker, Mazarine? You couldn't even take care of a mandrake if you tired. Know your place, woman. I will lead this family how I want when Uncle isn't around."

"Know your own place, Cowal," Mazarine frowned, rubbing her cheek, "Mother would have your head for suggesting that a woman can't lead and you know it. She'd also have it for how much attention you're drawing to the family." Whipping out her wand, she poked him in the chest, "I'll make sure Vaughnn and I don't have any bruises to show for your brutishness, but make a scene again and I'll let the family hear about your behavior. Mother and Uncle can deal with it, I'm done, Cowal."

The two siblings stared each other down for a moment, both refusing to be the first to move and neither willing to say another word. The tight knit trio of Hargraves, of the three eldest siblings, each separated by a year, was falling apart. Each new day brought new fights and for Cowal to openly strike his sister, in view of the public, made it clear that there was something brewing below the surface.

If not for the scraping sound of the dungeon door, the two would have gone on staring for hours. Instead, they tore apart when a low, slightly amused voice questioned them, "Am I interrupting something? I certainly hope not." Tom Riddle, one of the fifth year prefects stood just inside the heavy stone door, taking in the scene the two siblings presented.

Pulling her hair over her right shoulder to help hide the still smarting mark on her face, Mazarine turned to answer, tucking away the wand she'd just had pointed at her brother's heart, "Of course not," she started, smiling up at the dark haired prefect. "just your average sibling tiff, you know. Isn't that right, Cowal?"

Her older brother snorted, "Yes, a tiff, of course." With a roll of his eyes, Cowal gave his sister a horribly faked smile and began to stride away, "I suppose I will see you later, Mazarine. Check up on Vaughnn if you could." Not bothering to hide his dislike, Cowal made sure to ram his shoulder against Tom's on his way out, sparing him a saccharine, "Good night, Mr. Riddle."

Tom merely glanced over his shoulder at the passing seventh year, a slight arch curving his brow. While the prefect gave her brother his momentary attention, Mazarine turned to check up on Vaughnn, as Cowal had so kindly reminded her to do, only to be stopped by that same, slightly amused voice, "I hope that the your sibling tiffs are not always so heated, Ms. Hargrave. I don't know many siblings who would strike each other or go so far as to pull their wands over something small."

The embarrassment Mazarine felt at the prefect's comment sent her face burning bright and unwilling to give him any satisfaction, she stomped away, her head ducked down as if she could hide from his view.


	4. Chapter 3

With his promotion to prefect, Tom Riddle’s fifth year was proving to be more pleasant than even his first year at the school. As usual, his classes were horribly simple and never proved the challenge he wished, but they were still interesting, as easy as they were. Magic, even the most artless of spells and potions would never cease to intrigue him. He wished to bury himself so far into this world of witchery that any lingering amount of muggle blood was far from his mind, so far that no one would ever know that he had ever seen the muggle world and their ugly, primitive ways first hand. 

Being a prefect earned him a position of power and respect among the students of Hogwarts and he reveled in it. Compared to some of the other prefects, Tom was surprisingly fair and lenient. He, unlike some, did not deduct points from other houses simply because of long held rivalries and he certainly did not grant his own house points. He would not abuse this position in such lowly ways. No, instead, he held this power over the heads of those he disliked, always dangling the threat of lost points when they would step outside the lines. Always with a very true allegation of their wrongdoings, how they had went against this code or broken a horribly vague rule that, while the other students had never heard of it, certainly sounded like a rule that Hogwarts must have. And if he intended to befriend someone, gain their trust? What better to offer than the protection that befriending a prefect could provide? After all, Tom himself knew that the bullied and ignored often knew things, very useful and interesting things indeed. 

The outcasts were not his only friends— not that he would truthfully refer to anyone with such a title—he also had another group. All from his year and house, these were students that he had befriended early on. None of them were all that bright, merely rather lacking in morals and more than interested in themselves and what the young Mr. Riddle could give him. Walburga and Orion, two second cousins from the Black family, betrothed to each other upon birth according to long standing traditions of blood purity. Walburga, a wiry girl with a severe face shared her harsh and off-putting personality with Orion, who in contrast, was bulky and intimidating thanks to his sheer size and hard set jaw. The two could hardly stand each other and the rest of the wizarding world was even worse off. Then, there was the young Malfoy, Abraxas, who with his long blond hair and father’s money, went about acting as if he owned the school and everyone in it. He and the Black’s associated because of family ties—no family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight outside of the Weasely’s made it their goal to isolate themselves for even personal opinion did not trump the preservation of pure blood. And, after a while of tagging along with the dark haired pair, Abraxas had learned to hold his tongue and watch his audience. 

Tom Riddle, with his sharp mind had made an easy time of befriending the trio. Hinting at preference for pure blood and actively avoiding them got them interested, continuing it kept them there. Being a prefect had merely cemented their choices, not that they could get out at this point.

No, they were more than just friends, they were followers. The Knights of Walpurgis; that is what they had come to call themselves behind closed doors, all hexed to protect from prying ears. Witches and Wizards that shared interest in dark magic and all the power it could bring, power that, with Tom’s guiding hand could be shaped and used as he wished. 

To everyone, this group, the Knights, were merely Tom’s friends. Professors were happy to see that intelligent, orphaned boy finally with a group of friends all his own and so none thought to question when they did as Tom asked. Students, too charmed or intimidated by him, rarely even noticed. All just as Tom preferred. 

The Hargrave family however, did not come so easily and never had. The first Hargrave he had encountered was not much different from the masses, or had seemed as much for four years. The sorting ceremony had provided him with a concise list of students in his year and even being so fresh to the wizarding world, he had known to take note of them—especially those sorted into his house. So when his name was called and the hat placed on his head said with no particularly pleasant tone, “Slytherin,” he ran the list through his mind. Among many, Mazarine Hargrave had also been placed in his house. When the hat had been set on her unruly curls, the girl’s bright smile had faded quickly, as unlike with many before her, the hat seemed uncertain and as a frown started to make its way across her face, she began to fail at keeping her voice down.

However, before she was able to hold an argument with that ratty brown hat, it had shut her up with a snappy, “Fine,” before shouting out, “Slytherin!” While that seemed to please her, as her shoulders had dropped ever so slightly, she had still taken the time to toss it at the Professor who had set it on her head before stomping away. 

He’d learned later, through overheard conversations, that she had two older brothers, one in their house, and another in Gryffindor. The Gryffindor child had been a disappointment to the family, as apparently, the family was a historically Slytherin group, and the boy was distinctly Gryffindor—loud, rowdy, and hot headed, but still horribly worried about what was “right” and “just”. With her boisterous nature and hard headed ways, Mazarine was very similar to the Gryffindor boy, but still, it seemed that she had been different enough for the hat to be convinced she would fit with the snakes.

For most of their years however, Tom disagreed. She was not particularly intelligent—in most of her courses she put in only the bare amount of work necessary to keep her prized spot on the Quidditch team. The girl only excelled in two classes, transfiguration and defense against the dark arts, and anything that was not as interesting, she avoided like the plague. She had a childish sense of humor that took the form of hexes and jinxes thrown out in bustling halls and her excitement often came from breaking rules or going against social norms. After all, she had shocked the school when she stole a spot on an all-male quidditch team in her third year and she continued to hold her own in that arena. Tom thought her a simpleton and he was sure she thought him dull and overbearing.

Her Gryffindor brother, Declan, was only a year ahead of them, but even if it had not been for the house separation, Tom would have never even bothered with him. He was very open about his feelings on dark magic and on Muggle and Mudbloods. While still a member of a pure blood family and with thoughts still heavily steeped in their beliefs, Declan did not stand for violence toward their kind and was starchily against the use of dark magic in any manner. If anything, Tom considered him an annoyance and a possible obstacle to overcome if he were to get involved.

The eldest of the girl’s siblings, Cowal, was two years ahead of them and reminded him of the Black cousins, but in all the most unpleasant ways. He was a stupidly cruel boy who looked down on just about everyone and rarely even bothered with respect where it was due. While it was clear the boy had his talents, had potential as a wizard, he was too caught up in himself to be swayed and so Tom did not bother.

However, Tom was finding himself having to reconsider some of his assumptions about the family. There was obvious unrest between the siblings, the youngest, Vaughnn seemed weak and sickly, Mazarine was acting out—becoming progressively less interested in playing her role in the family, Declan was branching away to pursue his own moral stance, and Cowal, so intent on being in control was lashing out at all of them. Mazarine, who for most of the time they had been at Hogwarts together avoided Tom, had developed a sudden interest in him. He would catch her staring at him in classes or she would happen into the library minutes after he when in previous years, he’d not seen her there once. Tom was not unused to interest from the girls at Hogwarts, not by a longshot, and if the girl had been merely infatuated with him, he would have never bothered to reconsider her, but that was not what this was. 

The way she’d be looking at him was if she was attempting to pick him apart. As if he was hiding some secret she could only guess at. This did not frighten him though, for unless he wished it, she would never even be able to guess at the secrets he hid. She was trying though, and in her own way, trying to catch his interest as well. While she did not normally bother with her grades, it seemed that her highest marks were suddenly rising and she was not running far below him when it came to those courses. She was more active in their shared classes and if he caught her eye when she was staring her way, the girl didn’t turn away immediately, nor did she blush as most of them would. 

When he decided to return some of that interest, he found himself quite entertained. What on the surface appeared to be simple unrest was more like violent discord. Cowal’s anger was manifesting not just in words, but in physical action, and Declan, normally well-mannered with everyone seemed to be on a hair trigger himself. And Mazarine, forced to play mother to her two older brothers, was stepping between them less and less frequently. 

Little comments thrown here and there had Tom questioning his knowledge of this family, and this dissent, Tom decided, could be used to his advantage.


End file.
